Wildflower - Phan
by thatmemegentleman
Summary: Drug addiction has overtaken Dan’s life and has isolated him from his most beautiful relationships. Phil was finally happy after years of searching for it.
1. Introducing, The Troubled Boy

There was acceptance, love, compassion, and admittedly a little fear in Dan's heart. He was broken, torn to pieces in an alleyway that had always been there for him. He held on to the sticky sides, trying to let go of his own mistakes, his sin, before he went down in something less than a blaze of glory.

He was sick, eyes and body sunken in like the damn Titanic. There was nothing left of him other than the hoodie he wore and the blood on his stomach, which stained his shirt and his conscience.

With the last concentration of bad luck flowing through his veins, brought there by syringe, he felt himself fade.

Phil Lester suddenly appeared, lifting him off the dirty street and into his car.

When saving grace catches you by coincidence, it is something you become grateful for until you begin to take it for granted. Dan wouldn't let go so easily of his gratitude. He fell in love with his savior, did everything he asked, and recovered.

It was true, they were in love. Of course, no matter how beautiful a love story, it burns out in the end, whether by death, circumstance, or simple disconnection.

It took weeks before Phil noticed. Dan was gone hours at a time, with no explanation. He would come home, stumbling over his words and his feet, desperately trying to hide his incoherent manner.

Phil wasn't that stupid.

He tried very hard to heal him, but there was no way to help him up. These attempts made everything worse, it seemed, and Dan fell harder and harder. Phil felt helpless, and sometimes wondered if he should just leave him be. He couldn't do it. He loved Dan too much, from the moment he met him.

That moment was gone, and even still, Phil reminisced on their time together. That was a long time ago.

Dan felt very little, as he was always suppressed by addictive chemical compounds.

Three years after recovery, he was back on a habit.-

Phil peeked out of his bedroom's doorway to glance at Dan's unmoving body on the couch. His eyes were still glazed, confirming what Phil had already assumed. He slowly shut the door again, attempting not to make any sound. It was successful; for once.

Where had Dan even gotten it this time? Phil was sure his dealer had O.D.'d, and there was no one else that sold PCP anywhere near London. He'd ask Dan when he was in between high and awake. That was the only time he'd ever reveal that information.

He felt, somehow, this was his fault. Phil had only given him a taste of life, never truly shown him how much better it was to be high on the moment. Regrets that never were resolved continued to surface, duck down, then resurface in his head.

As he thought, he began to tell a story out loud, to himself. Quietly, of course, or else Dan would hear him, but he did. It was a sort of therapy to him, especially when he was afraid in his own house.

 _"Prince Lester, having slain the beast, returned home to scoop up his beloved fiance. With those deep, brown, gleaming eyes looking up admiringly, Phillip felt like he was on top of the world. His sword in ha-"_

Screaming erupted from the living room, causing Phil to jump slightly. He crawled to the closet, in case Dan decided to come in and do something he didn't know he was doing.

Footsteps, in a very uneven pattern, got louder, until they stopped again. A crash, which Phil assumed was Dan falling to the ground, was outside the door. Soft sobs slid through the crack in the door, making Phil's heart twinge with guilt.

At the same time, Phil knew the truth. He didn't want to understand it, nor did he want to think it was truly there, but it was as evident as Dan was addicted. He had to face it, because he did love the shell of a person outside the bedroom.

There was no way to fix it, nowhere to turn. Dan had been to multiple rehab centers, which had failed, and to jail twice. It only broke him more. Phil just had to accept the facts.

Nothing could save Daniel James Howell.


	2. Don't Ask Me Questions I Can't Answer

Dan woke up on the floor outside his bedroom, groggy and lightheaded. There was still this feeling of blood rushing through his head, but he didn't remember what from. As he rose out of the fetal position, he quickly realized that the blood was, in fact, coming OUT of his head. Everything seemed to swirl a bit when he got up to find Phil.

"Hey, I hear ya! Morning, sunshine!"

A muffled "morning" tipped Phil off as to what state his boyfriend was currently in. Phil's footsteps rang through the hall, and he nearly ran into Dan at the corner of the corridor. Dan's blood was now running down the side of his face.

"Oh my god!" Phil shrieked, running for the first aid kit. "DON'T MOVE!"

Dan decided that was advice worth taking, crumbling against the beige wall. Again, the footfalls thumping in the hall provided Dan with a sense of safety.

A hand pressed lightly on his forehead, then another hand, with a wet cloth, stroked the side. Stinging sensations burned the wounded area, but he tried to stay still so it could be bandaged. The hands worked silently, excepting a few sniffles. Gauze and bandage covered the broken part of Dan's head, and relief swept through his body.

Suddenly, Dan felt much lighter, and his tall frame was lifted off the ground. His limp limbs seemed to try and pull him back down, but the arms carrying him were strong and secure. The chest touching his was full of uneven and changing breaths, and it then processed in Dan's head that Phil was scared. He didn't know what for; Dan was perfectly fine.

"So," Phil's timid voice began, "where did you even get your drugs this time?"

Dan answered as honestly as he could. He didn't keep secrets with Phil... or did he? At this point, he had no idea, so he felt the safer option was to tell him.

"PJ had a stash the cops were about to raid... gave it to me...he's an idiot."

Phil tensed, as if he were about to speak, but let go of the thought with a sigh. He placed Dan on the couch, kissed his forehead lightly, and settled down right next to the hungover boy. Glittering eyes swept over the hunched posture that Dan had found himself in, and Dan felt... numb. Nothing at all. Not even love, desire, or any sense of caring. Everything that he felt was unreal to him, for whatever reason. He honestly had never loved Phil, or, at least, he didn't think he ever did.

This point in his life had been intended to be a filler, but it was becoming the end of his time. Dan liked it that way.

Phil stared at Dan's still form, not counting a few sways. He couldn't read anything happening in his head, but he knew that Dan was thinking. There was a stone-cold expression on Dan's face. That's all Phil ever had to work with. He looked down himself, doubtful thoughts rising in his throat. Constantly, he suffocated on them, afraid of Dan's secrets. What else did he hide?

It was pointless to be nervous about it. Dan would never tell.

"Dan?"

"Yeah?"

"I don't know you, do I?"

"No one does."

"That's fair."

There was a borderline awkward pause.

"Could you leave me alone for a minute?"

"Of course. I love you."

Dan didn't say anything back as Phil left the room. He never did, but Phil didn't mind. Maybe an "I love you," was a sentimental thing to Dan that shouldn't be used often.

Then again, Phil never knew.

Phil sat in their room, silently browsing his Tumblr feed, trying to resist looking at Dan's own blog. It was full of drugs, sex, and sad quotes about being alone. Dan wasn't necessarily alone. He had Phil. What he may have meant to express was loneliness, but that made Phil hurt worse. Phil didn't want to see his baby sad or depressed.

Bored, Phil opened the door of the room and went back to the living room. He made sure Dan was alright, which he was, and turned the corner to the kitchen. He poured a bowl of cereal, some milk, and a glass of orange juice for Dan, and carried it all to the coffee table.

"Hey, drink up, okay?"

Dan didn't reply, but sat up and gingerly grasped the glass. A small sip was all he took before setting it back down and turning on the television.

"Are you alright?" Phil asked. Dan simply nodded and gazed intently at the screen.

Soon, the cereal was eaten, and Dan eventually had about half of his OJ. The TV was switched off, and Dan looked at Phil with large eyes.

"What, baby?" Phil questioned.

"Do you want to...?"

Phil clenched his teeth, struggling to block out thoughts about his boyfriend using him. He took a breath and relaxed his body.

"I'm a little tired, and you need a nap, too. All that high isn't going to wake you up. Come on, let's go take a quick slumber, okay?"

Dan nodded, hung his head, and let Phil drag him to their bedroom. Immediately, Dan curled into a ball on the bed, held by Phil's strong arms.

Phil drifted off, but he felt Dan's wiggling body the entire time he was still awake.


	3. A Tear In The Fabric

Something was uncomfortable.

It was seven o'clock, after dinner, and Dan had managed to avoid any drugs for the past twenty-four hours. Phil was watching him, making sure he didn't sneak off and do anything dumber than yesterday's events.

For Phil, it was very difficult to do this. He felt he was invading privacy, ruining something that resembled trust. For whatever reason, he couldn't shake the feeling of guilt, whatever he did.

Dan had his head against Phil's shoulder, both groggy and trying to finish _My Neighbor Totoro._ Once or twice, Dan had gotten up, but Phil pressed him to stay.

Dan snuggled further into Phil's body, and Phil wrapped an arm around him. Phil looked down, and Dan looked distracted, even empty.

"Why are you so spacey today?" Phil timidly asked.

"Just a little tired. You know how it goes."

For whatever reason, Phil felt rage bubbling in him. It was dismissive, Dan's reply, and God, did he want to go off on him.

"It's something else. I know it."

Dan sat up, confused and understanding all at once. "You ruined the moment, you know."

"Maybe that was my intention." Phil stared Dan straight in the eyes, angry and cold. He had never been this way for as long as Dan had known him.

"Why are you so ticked all of the sudden?" Dan frustratedly whined.

"Because you have an issue, Dan! I can't take it anymore!"

"What even brought this up?" He was genuinely confused at this point, unaware of the fed-up man in front of him.

"I can see it in your eyes, Dan. You're constantly wanting to get high, I don't know my own fucking boyfriend!"

"You should have asked about me, and maybe I would've asked more about you!"

"I HAVE! You were too FUCKING BAKED to listen!"

"I almost NEVER do drugs!"

"That's a complete lie, every time I want to GO somewhere, you're passed out in our living room!

"MAYBE THAT'S POOR PLANNING ON YOUR PART!"

Phil balled his hands into fists and pointed one finger towards the door.

"DANIEL JAMES HOWELL, I'VE HAD ENOUGH OF THIS! GET DRESSED AND BE GONE BY TOMORROW MORNING OR SO HELP ME GOD YOU WON'T BE RECOGNIZABLE BY YOUR OWN BROTHER! OR IS THAT ALREADY TRUE, FROM HOW MUCH COCAINE YOU'VE SNORTED?"

Dan clenched his teeth, seething with anger, fear, and emptiness. All these emotions dropped quickly when he realized that Phil was completely serious. The slightly shorter man got up and left the room, putting on a pair of briefs and settling on the couch.

"Phil, c'mo-"

"NO."

The flinch that Dan felt was a sting, a final warning bell, that it was over. Silently, his things found themselves tucked in a duffel over his bag of marijuana. Dan felt sick, disgusted, and most of all, vulnerable. The pair of black leggings and grey cowl-neck sweater strewn on the floor became his outfit, and he turned away from Phil's half-asleep body.

He still had time, obviously, so he sat on the foot of the bed and took in everything about the room. His favorite part was the smell, but that was something very difficult to recreate if he was on the streets. Tears came to his eyes as he realized just how awful he had been.

As if he were touching a rare gemstone, he carefully grazed his finger over the bedpost's design, creating each and every chip in his head. He didn't want to forget, he couldn't forget. The only reason he wasn't dead was because of Philip Michael Lester, and of that was the only thing he was proud.

Softly humming "Small Cuts" became a comforting mechanism immediately. Hair was caught in his eye, as if it were trying to obstruct his view, trying to make him leave. He hated those few strands, trying to steal away the only thing he had left of Phil.

"She just wants attention..." Phil sang along from the other room, bitter and cold emotions ringing in the hall.

For whatever reason, Dan snapped at this small phrase. Dan full on began to sob, but Phil paid no mind. He merely stared at the fabric of the couch. Tears fell heavy onto the duvet, Dan's face in it's warm embrace.

He must have been there until midnight, crying loudly and tearing himself away from the atmosphere by his own will.

Of course, the light of day was not exactly a beautiful sight, either.

Dan's eyes met the shining window, silent tears streaming down his face. Eyes red and puffy, Dan held his head up, just barely, and plodded out the door as Phil snored softly.

He breathed in its sound, the last memory of his soulmate burning deep into his skin.


	4. I Swear I Don't Love You

-Two and a Half Years Later-

Phil's head rested against the sunken couch, his girlfriend smiling and running her fingers through his hair. The fireplace aglow, Phil and Kelsey were content to sit and watch the logs burn.

Winter was a quiet, sensual time for them. Hot cocoa, fluffy blankets, and Christmas specials made the nights even more magical.

The phone on the counter rarely buzzed, its quiet manner only due to the fact that everyone else was spending Christmas Eve with their lovers.

"Babe?" Kelsey suddenly whispered.

"Yes, Kel?"

"You seem... distant. I don't know. Is there something going on?" Her voice was clear, and it gave Phil a strange comfort. He quickly replied.

"Not at all." Phil knew that was a lie. As the holidays drew near, stories of homeless addicts were sprinkled throughout the news. He always thought of Dan this time of year, and he couldn't help but wonder just what ever happened to the boy in the grey sweater. The memory was blocked out from his mind, as he chose it to be, but he just wanted to know. Why?

Well, hell if he knew.

"Aw, c'mon. You can tell me."

"Are you sure? It's kind of... well, it's stupid."

"Nothing's stupid. Is it an ex-girlfriend?"

"Boyfriend."

"Oh." She was quiet for a minute. "Cute. Tell me about him." She curled even closer to him.

"Well, it all started six years ago, when I met him on the street. He was on some bad drugs, and he was nearly unconscious."

"So you dated a drug addict."

"Well, yeah. I, uh, I forced him to leave after I had just about enough."

"Aw, that's sad. Was he a good person, at least?"

"How would I know," he scoffed, "he was too high to tell me shit."

Kelsey's arms wrapped swiftly around his neck, and suddenly, Phil realized just what he had been missing from Dan.

 _No,_ he told himself, _he ruined your life._

The hospital walls confined Dan, just like they had for the past few days. His cheeks were so hollow, you could fit a brick where the dip was. Dark circles defined bugged eyes and thinning hair, while his bones stuck out of nearly every corner.

Nurses were always on guard, so Dan couldn't have any second of peace. His long, scraggly fingers fumbled with the IV tube, but a nurse pulled his scrawny phalanges away. He was terrified of them.

He wasn't sure if he meant himself or the nurses.

According to his doctors, he had to gain at least fifty pounds, if not eighty, to be at a healthy weight. That was the scary part of the process. No one had ever told him to _gain_ weight. Sure, he was at ninety-eight pounds, but the thought still worried him.

"Sir," started one of the nurses, "do you have any family that will come to visit? I bet they're lovely people."

Dan sat for a minute, thinking about it. Would his mother come to visit? No, she disowned him after she found weed under his bed. His brother? He was in Germany, studying with expert biologists on progeria. There was no way he would be distracted. Aunts, or uncles? Oh, hell no.

He simply shook his head, replying with a quiet, "I don't think so."

"Oh, I'm sorry to hear that. Anyone special, perhaps?"

Dan's knees bent up to his chest, thin and knobby. He wrapped his arms around them, bending his head forward. His fingers clutched the bony wrist of the opposite arm, and he nearly threw up at the touch of his misshapen body. Everything about himself, he hated. But he was here to fix it.

"I used to have one. He kicked me out."

"Would you like to talk about it, sir?"

"Not particularly, but I guess it might help. Isn't my therapist supposed to do this?"

"Well, I just thought it seemed a bit boring and quiet in here. Since you're on watch, sitting here isn't going to help. It's awkward, right, sir?"

Dan, for whatever reason, took a moment to think. Everything about this place was awkward, even how he got here. They found him, nearly dead, in a back alley. Later, they told him it was an overdose of sleeping pills. Dan understood that part, he knew just how much he missed... um, him.

The nurse shuffled, and he snapped back to life.

"Okay, call me Dan. I guess you have a point."

"Sure, Dan. Tell me about your life, and this girlfriend of yours."

"Boyfriend."

"That's cute!"

"Yeah, it used to be."

"So what was his name?"

Dan looked down, then back up into the nurse's eyes, suddenly feeling even sicker than he had been with himself before.

"I don't remember."

At that moment, Dan knew that he had broken his own promise. He felt sick, awful, and tried to go back to the last night there, the sound of the boy's snoring, but he couldn't remember. Why couldn't he? He couldn't do one single thing right. He couldn't, no! He wasn't supposed to end it like this.

His last night, god, he didn't remember the smell! That was the last thing he had of him. Of the... boyfriend... guy. It was wrong, all wrong.

He wasn't supposed to forget him.


End file.
